Just at the start of the school year in August, a tragedy beset a family with whom I had a very long and close relationship. I had been “Cia Grandma” to the three kids for their entire lives. After a month of family drama and mental breakdown, both the parents died. My daughter and I arrived the next day and took the children from protective services to the home of some friends who took in all five of us. The children have no blood relatives in the US. Knowing that normalcy was probably the best thing for the children, we took the two boys to their elementary schools the next day.
The older boy (I’ll call him Rishi) goes to a public math and science magnet school and the younger (Ayaan) is in a special classroom (he is autistic) at another public school nearby. It’s impossible to describe how relieved and grateful we were that the boys not only wanted to go to school, but that the teachers and staff embraced them in a warm cocoon of love and support. Most of the teachers and staff at Rishi’s school had been trained in trauma-informed practice and so were professionally prepared, but the love they showed to me and to him went far beyond their formal responsibilities. At both schools, the boys were treated with respect and compassion with teachers, counselors, principles, and health staff watching out for them and making sure they knew they could ask for help and support anytime.
Rishi and Ayaan are not the only children for whom school is a refuge of safety and love. For so many children whose family are dealing with a variety of challenges, from economic insecurity to unsafe neighborhoods to mental illness, school is a place where they can let down their guard, where they can feel nurtured and secure. Not only does their ability to learn depend on this level of normalcy and safety, but sometimes their opportunity to thrive is determined by what happens during the school day. As efforts to cut funding to public education threaten the very existence of public schools, this critical lifeline is less and less available for our most vulnerable children.
If Rishi and Ayaan, my lovely and precious “grandkids,” survive this terrible tragedy and go on to happy and healthy lives, much of the credit will go to the amazing teachers and staffs of their public schools. I consider all of them to be live-savers and professional heroes. Although this was an extraordinary situation, I want to affirm them for the work they do every day for all the children in their care. Thanks to all public school personnel who have dedicated their lives to the well-being and education of all the children who walk through their doors each morning. Your work is truly transformative.